my souls a ploughed ground
a chandelier of bones
staring into a night
black star
third eye
a wing with sight
sitting on the knee of lotus
the knee of listening
the knee of your voice
speechless
i move from some inner locomotion
distant from the mind's arson
that old inner argument,
self; a plucked thorn
a burning city dire

i vacillate like a shifting shadow
a feathered ghost
skull of the arcane
and in a split second
find you like a spaceship in the woods.